Facade
by BeautifulxxDisasterx
Summary: Desperate to maintain their images, Jake and Miley come back from Vegas as a married couple...and continue that way. What will married life entail for the accidental couple? Sequel to 'Waking Up In Old Arms' Dedicated to No Ifs Ands Or Maybes
1. Married

**Summary: Desperate to maintain their images, Jake and Miley come back from Vegas as a married couple...and continue that way. What will married life entail for the accidental couple? Sequel to 'Waking Up In Old Arms' Dedicated to No Ifs Ands Or Maybes**

_It's been for freaking ever, but here's your sequel. It's going to be a chapter story, but a fun one. It's dedicated to Millie, No Ifs Ands Or Maybes, because she absolutely loved the first one, and the first one was also dedicated to her, so I found it fitting. She is also the reason I'm writing this right now. So that is why she gets it. And she gave me this quote. :D But I love all the rest of you for reading this and the other one! Thank you!_

_Disclaimer: I do not own Hannah Montana._

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"**Today I woke up thinkin' about Elvis somewhere in Vega, I'm not sure how I got here or how this ring on my left hand just appeared out of nowhere." - "Last Name" Carrie Underwood**

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Chapter 1- Married

(Miley POV)

I heaved a sigh as I, for the fifth time that minute, glared at the big diamond ring sitting on my left hand. I hate it. I hate that I got married without my real consent. I hate that I have to make it seem like this was my plan all along. I hate that I have to lie. I hate that this ring is so beautiful with its silver band and diamonds and sapphires. I hate that there's a part of me that is happy about this whole thing.

"Admiring your ring again, Mrs. Ryan?" a cocky voice sounded as my...husband slides into the seat next to me. Jake Ryan gives me a smug grin. I glare, partially because he's right; partially because he called me Mrs. Ryan again. He's been calling me that ever since we woke up that insane morning a week ago, but I've given up correcting him. He never listens anyway.

"More like glaring at it. With hatred. A burning hatred." I correct. He scoffs, his ego shining in his eyes.

"Yeah right. That," he disagrees, grabbing my hand and pointing to the ring, "is the most beautiful ring you have ever seen in your life."

I yank my hand away, choosing not to engage in yet another fight about the ring or our current situation.

Thing is, the two of us are currently seated on an airplane that is flying us to Los Angeles from Las Vegas where we will hold a press conference explaining to our fans that we met up there out of nowhere and immediately fell back in love (gag). We'll tell them that we couldn't help ourselves, couldn't wait, so we eloped, but will be holding an official wedding in a few months. This is the same press conference where I will be explaining how my double life has worked for the past few years. Yes, Max _had_ kept his promise of telling the press about me (he did tell the press that he was my fiance, but my fans will trust me much more than him, don't you think?), as we saw by the huge news coverage over the last week. Which, let me tell you, is just awesome.

_Not_.

I settled down further in my comfortable first class airplane chair, awaiting the plane's descent, as I had been the entire flight.

I tried my best not to think about the fact that I'm married. To Jake Ryan. Who I hadn't seen in years until a week ago. I tried not to think about the fact that as much as the reasonable part of me wanted to get a divorce, I was happy that my need to maintain my image wasn't letting me. I mean, I know what I told Jake that morning. I know I told him that I would need time, but the fact is, I remember everything from that night by now. I remember how happy I felt with him, despite my drunken state. I was happy with him, thinking that we had a real life together in the future. And now I didn't want to lose that.

Not really, anyway.

Obviously, there's a bit of remorse when his huge ego makes itself known or when he acts like the Jake I knew all those years ago. And I'm not exactly thrilled to be married to him, but I guess you just have to take what life gives you and deal with it.

I felt the plane begin to descend, and I bit my lip. Jake turned and offered me a cocky grin.

"Ready, Mrs. Ryan?" he inquired. I glared.

"Yeah, I'm ready."

Except for the fact that that was a total lie.

The two of us were cautiously stepping out into the airport as soon as we could. I scanned the crowd for my dad as Jake grabbed my hand, and I sent him a fierce glare.

"Miles! Miley!" I heard my dad's voice yell. I ripped my hand apart from my kind-of-husband's and felt a grin grow across my mouth as I spotted my dad.

"Daddy!" I exclaimed, running to him (Jake following close behind), laughing with joy as my dad caught me in his arms.

"I missed you, bud." he whispered into my ear.

"I missed you, too, Daddy."

Reluctantly, my dad released me. I watched him eye Jake with disdain.

"Why are _you_ here, kid?" he snapped. I bit my lip.

"Daddy, there's something you should know." I began. His gaze turned to me. I watched him push his hair out of his face, looking at me expectantly. I felt terrible. "Jake and I are married."

As I expected, he exploded. He yelled, glared, pointed fingers. When he actually caught his breath, he glared. "You two have a _lot _of explaining to do." he forced out through clenched teeth.

I breathed a deep breath.

This was going to be a _long_ night.

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	2. Explain

_Heeey. It's been a while, but I'm updating! Finally! Huge thanks to everyone who reviewed last chapter!And thanks to _**No Ifs Ands Or Maybes**_ for the wonderful description of dear Jakey's eye color. _

_Disclaimer: I do not own Hannah Montana._

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**Chapter 2- Explain**

Miley POV

At first, Jake and I weren't going to tell my dad the truth. Well...he didn't want us to. He told me that my dad might slip up and say something about it, that if we told him, he'd try to convince us to tell everyone the truth. However, the more I thought about it, the more I realized that I couldn't lie to my dad. I mean, sure he might say something (although I doubt he will); sure he'll be more upset with me than he's ever been...but he's my dad. He's the one who was there when my mom wasn't. He raised me, and I can't tell him I married Jake because we fell in love the moment we laid eyes on one another.

So I end up telling him the truth, just like I told Jake I would.

When I'm done, I'm biting my lip. My dad is staring at me, brow furrowed. Eventually, he stares at Jake. Then back at me. Jake, me, Jake, me. I twist the ring around my finger absentmindedly, for some reason already used to the weight that is settled there. I can hear the tick of the clock, can hear Jake's nervous breathing as he sits next to me, can feel my heart thud in my chest.

He stares even more, contemplative, maybe a little angry, a little confused.

Finally, he sighs.

"Alright."

My breath halts.

"Alright?! That's _it_?! No 'I'm real disappointed in you, bud'?! No 'I don't know why you did that, bud'?! _Nothing?!_ Just 'Alright'?!" I explode, not being able to help myself. I mean, when you expect a cow and end up getting a little tiny mouse instead, you can't help but wonder what happened!

He looks at me, with a small nod.

"Bud, I know you think you just got married in Vegas 'cause you were drunk, but...well you'll figure it out." he says. I glare. What the heck is that supposed to mean?

I turn my head to look at Jake, who is just as confused as I am. Maybe my dad really _is_ crazy after all.

There's an awkward silence, followed by a swift change of subject.

"So, when's the press conference?" Dad asks curiously. I bite my lip, glancing at the clock.

"In about 3 hours." I say. And suddenly, I'm not sure if I'm ready to do this.

My dad nods, excusing himself to go wash his hair. Typical.

Immediately, Jake turns to catch my eye.

"Miley, it's going to be okay." he tells me. I search his eyes for some inkling that this is not at all what he means, that he is not at all being as caring as he is coming off, but I can't. His secret green eyes seem to be glowing, sparkling even, and all I see inside of them is pure honesty, mixed with something I cannot put my finger on.

I give up, leaning against him slightly. He wraps an arm around my shoulders.

"I just don't feel right about lying to my fans. I don't know...I don't know if I can do it, Jake." I whisper, having no idea why, exactly, I am telling him this. He sighs.

"Miley, it's for their own good. You really think they want to know that their role model married some guy she used to date while on a last minute vacation with her true future-husband?" he asks. When you say it that way...

"I guess not..."

"And you never know, maybe we'll learn to love each other."

I scoff.

"Right. And my dad is a spider monkey."

I can feel him glaring at me, and I deflate a bit. I forgot that he still loved me as much as he ever did. I heave a sigh.

"I'm sorry, Jake. I...I wasn't thinking." I mumble, although I know it doesn't make up for it. You see, I can tell that Jake is constantly holding on to this sliver of hope that I will learn to feel the same way. But there's this large part of me that just doesn't want to fall into that trap all over again, a part of me that refuses to believe I won't get hurt again.

"It's fine." His sentence is choppy, filled with a cover-up of real emotion, and I know he's hurt. I wish I could always be on guard about what I'm saying around him, but I can't.

He gets up and leaves, and I don't stop him.

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There is what seems to be millions of flashing lights shining in our eyes. I can see questions burning on lips and in eyes, but we won't take them until our story is out. I have no wig on (I've already been outed, so why wear the stinky sweatbomb if it is unneeded?), but something about it makes me feel exposed. Jake's arm is around my waist (Should I feel uncomfortable?). My fingers are twisting knots behind the small podium-type thing at which we are standing. My sort-of husband clears his throat, diving into the beginning of our story because he knew I couldn't.

I listen to his deep voice rumble through a twisted story. We're both, conveniently, taking a break in Vegas, intent on unwinding a bit. We meet up at a club, and he talks about how the strong love we've felt for one another in the past simply came swelling up in the middle of us the moment we saw each other again. He speaks with such conviction, that even _I _almost believe him. But I guess that's why he's such a great actor, right? He says that we're sorry, sorry for getting married so suddenly, but there's a smile hinting on his perfect lips. He says that we are not, however, sorry for getting married, sorry for falling back in love all over again.

He finishes, giving me time to look up at him, offering a bright grin.

However, the moment is gone as soon as it begins, for questions are shouted at such a great speed, I can barely comprehend them.

"Mr. and Mrs. Ryan!" A particularly tiny, yet determined reporter shouts. I try my best not to cringe at the coupling name as Jake points to him, giving a short nod. "Are you two going to have a real wedding, one people can actually see?"

"Yes, actually. We're taking a few months to plan it, but then we will have a more official wedding that the press can take part in." I answer. I couldn't let him do it all on his own now, could I?  
"Mrs. Ryan?!" It's a woman, young, honeydew blonde hair let loose, black suit covering her body.

"Yes?"

"Recently, information as been released that you are also Hannah Montana. This is true, yes? And if so, what happened to your fiance you went to Vegas with?" The latter question brings a bitter answer to burn on my tongue, but I know I cannot answer it truthfully.

"Yes, it's true. I am Miley...Ryan, previously Stewart, but I am also Hannah Montana. I have been all along. As for the fiance, it was just some guy trying to get spiked publicity for outing my best kept secret." I answer, satisfied with the fact that it's all half-true.

"But why lie to your fans for so long?!" A voice I cannot locate shouts. I bite my lip. Jake squeezes my hand, and I suddenly know exactly what to say.

"I knew what it was going to be like to be famous. Paparazzi, never knowing if someone was befriending you for the fame or for you, no privacy...I wanted to share my music with the world, but I didn't want absolutely anything else that it came with. So I became Hannah Montana. I donned a wig that would hide my true identity from the world so that I could share my music and still be a normal teenage girl just trying to fit in at the same time.

"If any of my fans out there are hurt or upset, I want to deeply apologize, from the bottom of my heart. That was never my intention. I was always planning on coming clean eventually, but my only regret is that I couldn't tell you all myself."

There's more questions, ones that blur together, so that I cannot remember what they are. I remember shoving my hand into the back pocket of my skinny jeans, a nervous habit. I remember the calm nonchalantness radiating off of Jake, his own personal cologne that was undeniable. I remember feeling like maybe things would be okay after all.

It took way too long for it all to be over, to be perfectly honest. We ran out of energy before they ran out of questions, something I am in no way surprised about. It's usual for press conferences, and especially ones with such juicy details as an eloping by two, young Hollywood role models and the uncovering of one of music's best kept secrets. But eventually, my dad cuts in and insists that time is up. There's waving and smiling, posing and then (finally) leaving.

We're ushered out of the room, and the cool rush of air untangles the release of a breath I was unaware I had been holding. Jake's hand is still warm in mine, but the two seem to somehow fit with one another, so I let them be. I lean my head against his shoulder.

"Thanks for that." I whisper, a smile heavy in my voice.

"For what?"

"Really? Jake Ryan being modest? I was never aware that was even possible."

"Ouch, Mrs. Ryan. Now that really hurt." he mumbles, a smirk dripping from his words. He knows he's won. I roll my eyes.

"Thanks for being so great in there, for calming me down." I mutter, suddenly way more embarrassed than I should have been. I guess that Jake has always had that sort of effect on me.

We're rushed into a waiting limo.

"Yeah, I guess I am pretty amazing like that, aren't I?" he gloats. I'm about to comment, but when the limo pulls into the opposite direction of my house, my brow furrows in immediate confusion.

"Uhm, where are we going?" I inquire curiously, a little bit worried. New limo driver? Jake mirrors my countenance.

"To my apartment." he answers, as if it is completely obvious. I choke, needless to say, on my own spit.

"Why in the world are we going there?"

"As I recall, you don't have a place to live, isn't that right Mrs. Ryan?"

"Well, yes, but--"

"And I promised you that you could stay with me, at my big, empty apartment."

"That's true, but--"

"And, Mrs. Ryan, I never ever _ever_ go back on my promises."

I try my best to ignore the double-meaning in his words.


End file.
